Sir Maxwell's Guide to Dragon Hunting
by lithle
Summary: Sequel to SQHRGP. In which Duo realizes that sometimes the thing you've given up is the thing you need the most, and things, once given up, are not easily retrieved again. 2x5
1. Chapter 1

Title: Sir Maxwell's Guide to the Honorable Sport of Dragon Hunting

Authors Note: This story takes place after the events of my other story 'Saint Quatre's Home for Retired Gundam Pilots'. I suppose it could be read alone, if you so desire. You just need to know that because of events that took place in the previous story, the pilots are sharing a house. Also, Wufei and Duo were at one point sleeping together, but do to actions on Duo's part (breaking things off in a note), the liaison has ended.

Pairings: 2x5

Disclaimer: I make absolutely no profit on these stories.

The thing about living in someone else's house is that they tend to know the place. It makes it hard to disappear, especially when they have a master key. Even with that, it was two weeks before I walked into my room to find Quatre sitting on my bed. You've got to give the man points for patience. I wouldn't have lasted a day. But I wouldn't have cared, not really.

Quatre cared about everything, all the time. It set my teeth on edge. Something about always turning a corner and finding him there empathizing with you. Don't get me wrong, he's cool. We're all cool. But we've got our quirks. Me, I don't need anyones abstract sympathy.

"I don't want to talk about it," I announced as I shrugged out of my jacket and hung it up in the distressingly ample closet the room provided. I'd lived in apartments smaller than that closet. Quatre had a tray sitting next to him complete with teapot and what I'm sure were delicious cookies.

"This isn't an interrogation."

"What is it then?" I crossed to the desk by the bed, and perched there, watching him. I wanted to be out of his reach. I wanted to be able to leave, if I had to.

Quatre poured, carefully, for both of us. He stirred honey into my cup, and added milk before handing it to me. I'd never told him how I liked my tea. He just knows stuff like that. He smiled and if the smile wasn't innocent (we're none of us innocent) it was honest.

"This is tea, Duo." He spoke with the slow care of someone addressing a very small child. It's hard to tell when Quatre is kidding. He always sounds so sincere. It wasn't until he began to chuckle that I realized and mimed throwing a punch at him. "Do you want a cookie?"

Of course I wanted a cookie. That's how they get you, with food. But me, I'm an easy catch. I'm available. Not like some people I could name, people who hide behind open books and locked doors. People who walk off in the middle of chess games if you so much as enter the room.

Quatre waited until I'd had two cookies before he said anything that wasn't food related.

"Do you like it here?" he asked.

There was something behind the softness of his voice, a quiet tenseness, like a trap waiting to be sprung. You learn to hear things like that, when you spend your time around dangerous people.

"It's great."

"I'm glad." His tone didn't change. Whatever needed to be said to disarm him, I hadn't said it.

The quiet began to stretch. I could only peacefully drink tea so long. I kept feeling the fragility of the cup I held. "Well?" I asked.

Quatre didn't pretend not to understand the question. I like him for that. He plays the game sometimes, says nice things to people he could kill without trying. But he knows how to be honest.

"Why don't you talk with him?"

"Because he's a bastard." I answered. If he weren't such a bastard, he wouldn't be avoiding me. Of course, he made it look like he wasn't. He was polite, he said hello if I ran into him. But try to talk to him and I might as well be talking to his Gundam.

"He says the same about you."

"Yeah, well, takes one to know one." I paused midway into another cookie, "You've been talking to him?"

Quatre's smile was self-satisfied and I couldn't blame him. He'd managed more than I had. He said, "A little."

"What'd he say? Other than me being a bastard. I know that part." I heard the urgency I hadn't meant to allow into the words, and flashed my best grin, "I want to hear all the naughty details about myself."

Quatre, being Quatre, being sympathetic and aware, wasn't fooled. Heero would have been, but Heero wouldn't have cared either. "Does it matter that much to you?"

"No. Yes. Listen—" I opened one of the drawers on the desk and took out a gun. It was something to hold, something to focus on.

"Yes?" He prompted.

"We were fucking. It was good. For both of us. I just don't know why that has to be over." The quiet stretched, wound itself tight. "Well?"

"What are you asking?"

"Why does it have to be over?"

"Duo—" He sounded tired, but his tone held a certain level of ironic amusement, "What would I know about it? Business leaves even less time for relationships than terrorism did."

"But you're good with people!" I don't know what I'd expected. An answer. Advice. If he couldn't fix it, why'd he break in? Why bring tea?

"Not as good as I thought I was." Whatever trap had waited in his words earlier, it was gone now. He was aware of it too; he spoke like someone who had just missed a target.

"It's not important." I began to take apart the gun. It's not that they need cleaning, that much. It's just something to do with your hands.

"That, the both of you agree on." Quatre set the tea tray on the desk beside me. "You want to know what he said about you?"

I didn't answer. Didn't know the answer.

Quatre started talking anyway, as if my silence had been an enthusiastic yes. "He said you used to show up starving and wired. He said you'd spend half the night talking and sometimes he couldn't even follow what you were saying. He told me you love omelets, but not with onions. You're excellent at cards, particularly poker. You like your tea with lots of honey, and just a little milk."

"So?" I asked, when he stopped without warning to give me a surprisingly unpleasant glare. It's easy to forget that Quatre's as dangerous as the rest of us. But he has ways of reminding you.

"So. He never mentioned sex."

"Wufei's a prude." It was true. You could fuck the guy, but you couldn't really talk about it with him. He'd just change the subject.

Quatre's breath left through his teeth, a slow hiss like a fuse burning down. He stood then, leaving the tray behind, and walked to the door.

"No. Duo, Wufei's in love." He shook his head. "If you want sex, try Heero or Trowa, or one of my people. Leave Wufei alone. I don't think he can be just what you need anymore."


	2. Chapter 2

Authors Note: Nothing to say here, except that this is fun to write. Also, if you're curious, my current song for writing this particular fic is 'Anna Begins'. Oh, and one more thing! I'm thinking about writing about how Duo and Wufei hooked up from Wufei's point of view and throwing it up independent of this story. However, doing so will slow down the arrival of the next chapter. So, either I write it and this gets delayed. Or I don't, and I lose interest, and I never write it. Any opinions? PM me, comment, IM me, email me, whatever. **Edit**: Said oneshot has been written.

Pairings: 2x5

Warnings: More language than usual.

Alright. Before I go any further, I think I better clear some things up. I am not the villain here. Duo Maxwell, nice guy. And Wufei, he's not the innocent victim. Like I said, we're none of us innocent. Hell, he came on to me. Yeah. That's right. Okay, so yes, I was planning on dragging him into bed at the time, but he still made the first move. No, I didn't believe it either.

This was, maybe, a year after the war. About seven months after I found out that Une was letting things rot and said goodbye to Hilde. I was getting a little skittish and twitchy. Dealing with nothing but scum, it's enough to drive anyone mad, and I'm the sort that likes to be around people. I figured I'd look up one of the other pilots, just to remember that I wasn't alone in the world. And I really needed to get laid.

Now, all the other pilots are fuckable, if we're just talking looks here. Hell, so am I. But we're also a bunch of psychopaths, and screwing psychopaths takes a bit of planning.

Heero, he's out of the question from the start. The guy's just not human. First, you'd have to get him to want you. Then, if you do, you've got a Heero who wants you on your hands. Who knows what he'd do then. Tie you to a bed and never let you up again? Right, so that's actually kind of a hot image, but I'm sure it'd get boring with time.

Trowa? Now, you only have to watch Trowa fight for about five seconds to know he'd be absolutely fantastic in the sack. Unfortunately, you've only got to talk to him for about five minutes to realize the guy's got all the passion of a sponge. Sex with Trowa would be like sex with the world's greatest sex toy. Excellent, but still essentially masturbation.

Quatre? I wanted to get laid, not married. Mind, I'm sure there'd be plenty of perks to being Mr. Duo Winner, but I'm not the settling kind. I'm not even sure that Quatre fucks. He probably 'makes love'. Either that, or he's the kinkiest bastard on or off the planet.

Which brings us to one Chang Wufei. The thing about Wufei is he never seemed to really care about the rest of us. He was always sort of superior, like we were just in his way. So, no worries about him getting too attached. Also, I knew if we did fuck, he probably wouldn't mention my visit to the others. When you're me, and you meet someone that uptight, all you want to do is make them let their hair down. I figured I'd see if maybe I could make Lord Chang beg. He doesn't, by the way. Ever. No matter what's done or how well. And usually, it backfires.

So, about a year after the war. I took a shower. I stole a clean shirt. I showed up on Wufei's doorstep fully intending to have to beg, plead and threaten my way in. But before I could even start my first argument for admittance, he'd already given me the sort of penetrating stare that usually means I'm about to be shot at, announced that I looked like hell, and settled me on his couch with a plateful of steak and soda.

It set me off my game. What I'd planned to do was see how irritated I could get Wufei before I demanded sex. I figured if he was annoyed enough, he'd let me take him to bed just to shut me up. But Wufei started to talk. He started by bitching about work with the Preventers, asking my opinions on cases and telling me about the stupid shit his co-workers pulled. Hell, he even had some stuff to say about Heero that wasn't exactly flattering. Suddenly it wasn't Lord Chang looking down on all the worthless peons, it was Chang and Maxwell versus the world. And, fuck, I lost my nerve. Just lost it completely. Sat there and nodded while he started comparing Relena's peace to some Utopias he'd read about in books or something. Apparently, for a Utopia to be sound it still needs a powerful military supporting it. That's why he doesn't like 'Herland', whatever that is. I sat and listened to him until about three in the morning, at which point I was really hoping he wouldn't mind me crashing on his couch, at least for a few hours. And he just, stopped talking. Stopped talking and smiled at me. Didn't sneer. Didn't smirk. Just, smiled. Said, "This isn't why you came here, though."

And it hadn't been. So we went to bed. And he knew what it was, and I knew what it was. Which was nothing. Just two guys who needed to spend some time not thinking for awhile. And that's all it ever was. At least, until Quatre broke into my room and started acting like I'd somehow managed to injure poor delicate Wufei's fragile heart. Which was impossible. It's not that Wufei's heartless, but he runs on anger. He didn't 'love' anything. Least of all me.

I went to bed thinking that. I slept with that reassurance running through my head on loop, a clear clean sense of what was and wasn't true. And then I woke up, and Quatre's words came crashing in again, sensible, measured, and right.

I threw my stuff in a duffle bag. I've always traveled light. It wasn't like I'd planned on staying in Quatre's little Gundam Pilot museum forever. It'd been good to see everyone, but there were other places I could lay low. Places where I wouldn't have to deal with anyone's disapproval or anger. Except maybe Une's, but I'd been dealing with her for years. At least she was a familiar enemy.

Heero was standing next to Deathscythe's foot. He looked like he'd been standing there since the beginning of time, and like he was prepared to continue standing there until the world exploded. He didn't even lean.

"Hey. How's it going?" I said, because he was looking at me, and if I hadn't, he might have just kept looking and not talking. I hate it when he does that.

"You're not leaving." He replied. Which, for the record, wasn't much of a reply, because it didn't exactly answer my question, did it? Also, crazy.

"I'm fantastic, thanks. And yeah, I am." I'd stopped walking, but I started again, stopping only when he moved directly into my path.

"No. You aren't."

"Let's look at this rationally. You can't actually make me stay. Unless you plan to shoot me, or break my legs." I really hoped he didn't. It was Heero. You could never be sure.

"I brought rope."

Of course he did. New tactic. "Why can't I leave?"

"Quatre said not to allow it."

"And you take your orders from him now? Come on, you don't actually want to keep me here. I irritate the hell out of you." I stepped to the side. He mirrored the movement. For a fleeting second I thought I might try my luck against him. And then I remembered him setting his own bones, and decided against it.

"This location is only secure while all the Gundams and their pilots are located with in it."

"So it's a prison? You won't let any of us leave?"

Heero fell silent. I could see him thinking through my words, something he never would have bothered with before. I waited.

"No. But the others would return." Another long pause. "You should be here. With us."

"Why?" The question burst out of me with unexpected heat. Despite my earlier sane plans to avoid a fight I dropped my duffle bag and took a few steps back. "What 'us'? What have any of us ever had in common except for being good at killing people? We don't owe each other anything! I don't owe any of you anything."

"You're wrong." Heero's voice remained infuriatingly level. He didn't even bother entering a fighting stance. What he did do was glance over his shoulder at the Gundams looming behind them. "We're them. Different makers, specs. Same material. Same mission."

"I'm not a machine, Heero." And anyway, when had he mastered abstract thought? "And the mission's over."

"If it was over, we would have blown them up after the war. There will always be a need for warriors."

It was something Wufei had said. Repeatedly. And it was true. I'd seen for the last three years how true it was.

"Doesn't the Perfect Soldier think it's a bit tactically unsound to keep us all in one place if we're supposed to be out protecting the world?"

"This is where we need to be." And he sounded so fucking sure.

"You want me to stay? Is that what you're saying?" Because really, when else was I going to get Yuy to say he wanted me?

"Yes. I want you to stay."

And I said, "Fuck you, Yuy."

But I picked up my bag. And I turned around. And I knew I better figure out another way to deal with Wufei. Because apparently we were one big happy family whether we liked it or not. Apparently, we were built that way.


	3. Chapter 3

Authors Note: I beg your patience with this chapter, which still fails to bring about an encounter between Wufei and Duo. It will happen, give them time. As ever, thank you for your kind comments and continued support.

Note, Relena makes two references to Wilfred Owen's poem 'Dulce Et Decorum Est'. I'd throw in footnotes, but I'm worried about breaking the formatting when I upload. Still, there will be an endnote on it.

Pairings: 2x5, 4xR

Warnings: Sad Relena and WWI poetry?

You can't just disappear in a house full of hunters. Unless you're me. And then you can, but it isn't easy. And, hey, if you are me, then you probably like the challenge. Also, we should hang out. Because we are awesome. I spent a lot of time in my room. Ate at odd hours. Watched too much TV. But I managed to go three days without seeing a soul.

The security cameras helped. Quatre, he didn't exactly think about privacy when he built his little Gundam Pilot habitat. The only rooms you can't watch from the terminals are the bedrooms and that has an override. It's just, the override sends the whole place into lockdown and sets off a security alert. So, I had to keep my perverted observations to the public rooms.

I watched Wufei, some. Mostly, I watched him train. Training, he was the way I remembered, fluid and powerful, dangerous yet carefully controlled. Otherwise, well, whatever. You couldn't hear anything. But I could see the way he held himself, coiled inward, his expression disinterested regardless of where he was. Lord Chang all over, Wufei from the war. And it got to me. He used to laugh with me, fuck, he used to act like a person around me. But on the screens, he never even smiled. Either he was acting that way because he was miserable, and Quatre was right, or he had only ever been different around me, and Quatre was right.

Three days. Three days, and I didn't see anyone. Three days, and I didn't hear anything about possible new targets from my network. Three days, and unless he was grinning like an idiot in his room, Wufei never once smiled. I started to hate everyone. Wufei, for not smiling. Quatre, for being right. Heero, for keeping me from leaving. Trowa, for, fuck, I don't know. Being taller than me.

Day four, I was in my security room, planning the safest route for liberating breakfast when someone knocked. The camera outside the door showed one of Quatre's men. I thought I'd just ignore him until he went away. But messing with the Saint sounded about right for the mood I was in. Besides, Quatre always seemed to travel with food.

"Yeah?" I asked as I opened the door. Quatre's men, they're good people. It makes fucking with them a lot less fun.

"Master Quatre would like you to join him for lunch."

"He's not in the kitchen." I knew. I'd checked.

"He's had a meal prepared outside."

"We're having a picnic? Will there be pony rides and berry picking?"

The dude didn't even smile, "I'm sure he would arrange it if you asked."

And he would. The bastard.

Quatre, it turned out, was in the back on the wide stretch of grass that covered the area between the house and the trees. All the green in this place, it's embarrassing. The colonial brat in me always wants to just stand around staring at the fucking leaves. Sometimes, it feels like, I don't know, looking at God. Other times it just pisses me off.

He'd gone all out, a blanket spread out on the grass and enough food to make it look like he was shooting the cover of a cooking magazine. But I didn't much notice. It wasn't really for me anyway. Because, yeah, there was green, there was Quatre, there was food. But mostly, there was Relena. You couldn't miss her. She wasn't wearing green, for one. She had on a white dress, and the breeze was catching at her hair as she stared up at the kite that dipped and wavered as she tugged its string. I hadn't seen her since the war ended and looking at her I thought maybe she hadn't changed at all. She was laughing, and the sound was clear and sweet, like church bells ringing.

I stood there, trying to decide what to hate her for. Her hair, maybe. The fact that she was smiling, and Wufei wasn't. But then she spotted me.

"Duo!" She called, pressing the string into Quatre's hands and rushing barefoot across the grass. When your arms are suddenly full of Queen of the World, there are only so many things you can do. I picked her up and spun her while she giggled and kicked, demanding to be put down.

"Hey there, Princess." I said, setting her back on her feet.

She stood on her toes, kissed me on the cheek, then took a step back, "Quatre thought you might not come." She smiled in a way that didn't quite hide the shadows in her eyes. One more thing that hadn't changed.

"Anything for you." I slipped an arm around her shoulders as we headed back to where Quatre was watching us. She failed to flinch. I wondered if she'd ever realize that she should be afraid of dangerous things. That the ones she held closest were the ones she should be pushing away.

"You could start by calling. You could have contacted us."

"I'm a busy man. My letters must have got lost in the mail."

Her smile was a lie. "Heero told me you were probably dead."

"He mentioned that." Relena, she, well, she means something. She means everything that peace was supposed to be. Everything we did our best to die for. It's hard not to be nice to that. But I was still busy hating everything, Heero included. "I'm sure he cried for days."

"I did." Maybe if she was someone else, she would have sounded angry. She just sounded tired. Like she'd spent too much time crying for too many people.

"Relena, you hardly know me."

She stopped walking. She was wearing her Queen of the World expression, all serious and benevolent, and her words had the sort of forceful sincerity I usually heard in her speeches on TV. "You tried to save my life once."

"Yeah, well, that was before I knew you treated risking your life like a competitive sport."

She blushed, and she was just a girl again. "I was going through a traumatic adjustment."

"Oh? You know, most people just start wearing a lot of black."

She started walking again, backward, "Like you?"

"Sure, why not? You'd make a great Gundam Pilot." The thing is, she would. Relena, she's just us if we didn't spend most our time blowing shit up. Same recklessness, same fucking stubborn inability to give up a lost cause. Or, I don't know, maybe we're just like her. We're Relena if she snapped and started killing all the people who've kidnapped her and given her shit over the years. Except, Relena's Gundam would be pink and it'd shoot heart-shaped lasers.

"It's good to see you again, Duo. I'm so glad you decided to stay." Quatre said it without a hint of sarcasm. He wore the expression of a man who would never dream of sicking Heero on me. Or of, you know, blowing up colonies. Low blow. Sorry. We've all been crazy, once or twice.

"Yeah. Sure. Home sweet home." I ignored the concerned look that Relena was giving the two of us and stretched out on the grass. There was a plate that was covered in a tower of tiny cakes. Hating the world is great and all, but you live on basic rations long enough, and you'll do a lot for tiny cakes. And if you stuff enough of them in your mouth it's a lot harder to say something stupid.

I let them talk. It was one of those pretend to be normal moments. Two killers and peace itself sitting on the grass, playing at happy families. And maybe if picnicking was the sort of thing that any of us did, the sort of thing that any of us had time to do, all the lets pretend would have been easier. Maybe the sun would have shone, and the birds would have chirped, and we'd have held hands and played hopscotch or whatever it is that people play after a picnic. Croquet. Badminton.

Instead, Relena said, "I believe Une's starting to miss her pilots, Quatre."

As far as small talk goes, not bad. Still, there was something in her voice, a sort of forced serenity. Quatre said, "Oh?"

"She's asked me to help recruit for the Preventers. She wants me to make a commercial. I told her it'd be better if she asked someone else."

I looked up from the Gundam I was building out of chicken bones. Relena isn't like Une. If she knew what the peace was costing—but I wasn't going to be the one to tell her. Still, in a way she's theirs. They get off to the very idea of her.

"Why not do it?" I asked, adding a little cracker hat to my Gundam. It's easy not to lie. Just smile a lot, and everyone thinks your words are innocent. "I mean, you already are, kinda. I'm sure you come up at all the little meetings."

Relena tensed. It wasn't even subtle. I wondered if she was always so easy to read, or if she was just letting her walls down with us. Probably it was trust. What's the world coming to when anyone thinks of Gundam Pilots as people to trust?

"It—" She shook her head, her small hands clenching into delicate fists then relaxing in a forced way that still left her fingers rigid against her dress. "If they choose to look to me as a symbol then they will. But I can't, won't, call on people to be soldiers."

"Relena, the Preventers are hardly soldiers." Quatre used his very nicest voice as he spoke, just radiating compassionate concern. "And the situations they find themselves involved in—"

"Aren't war?" She laughed, and there was nothing bell like about the high, sharp sound. "Of course. They're a peace keeping force. Men who aren't soldiers fighting, killing and dying in conflicts that aren't wars. What does it even mean 'peace keeping force'?"

Quatre's mouth opened, and closed again. I felt about the same. She sat their, her posture perfect, her chin high, and the words fell from her tongue with such quiet hurt.

"Relena?" I said, keeping her name soft, as if anything to loud or hard might somehow damage her.

"Don't." She might have lowered her head, if she was anyone else, but she was used to addressing crowds, and even as her eyes grew bright with the threat of tears, she kept her gaze steady. She knew how to track a target as well as any of us, I guess. "You'll say 'absolute pacifism will be achieved in time' or 'we have to be practical about these matters'. You'll say 'any peace is better than what we've been through'. And I'll have to agree with you. And I can't."

Quatre closed the distance between the two of them. There was something in the way he looked at her, something I figured I'd have to think about later. But when he reached for her hand, she didn't take it. She didn't even seem to notice.

"It's a process." He said.

"No. It really isn't. There are more deaths now than last year. More 'incidents'. And every time we think things are starting to settle, someone kills a colonial leader, and the violence spirals back upward. And it spreads. Riots on one colony usually mean riots on at least four others, as soon as it hits the news. So Une needs more men. And she wants me to gather them up for her."

I was very quiet, after that. What could I say? Sorry, they deserved it?

"You don't have to do it." Quatre managed to get hold of her hand then, and she let him hold her. But it was like she was doing it for his sake. None of the tension left her.

"Does it matter?" Her voice was quieter; touched with the same exhaustion I'd noticed when she'd first hugged me. "Duo's right. I'm the Preventer's favorite symbol. I'm what they're fighting for."

For the first time, she closed her eyes, as a brief shudder took her. When she opened them again, the tears were falling freely down her face. Looking at her, I saw another hopeless, crying face. Cindy, red eyed and silent as I left her behind.

She took a slow breath before speaking again, "You know, Treize kept a list, they say. I thought, maybe, that'd help. That if I memorized their names, I'd be able to sleep at night. I had Une keep me updated. She sent me memos. Lots of memos. And it wasn't enough."

"Relena, it isn't your fault." Quatre managed to say. If she heard him, she showed no sign.

"Every death, and I had a picture and a name. But what about when they killed? That was my fault too. Each life they took, lives like yours. Lives of people who believed in something. So I had those reports sent to me too. But it's war, right? And people, they go a little crazy during war. So I started asking for reports on the rapes. On collateral damage. Men without arms. Children without families." She was shaking, silent convulsions that didn't impact the careful, even way she spoke. "And I knew their names. I knew all their names. And it didn't matter. Why should it? What could I say to them? To their families? 'Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori'? Who takes comfort from that?"

The words fell like blows, and as she finally stopped, collapsing against Quatre, I looked down to see my hands clenched to white-knucked fists, the chicken-bone gundam crushed. Relena was laughing, a high hysterical sound that cut at the wind like an air raid siren.

"Relena." Quatre's voice was low and urgent. "Relena."

"I do see them," she whispered. "When I close my eyes, when I don't. It doesn't matter. I see them, I hear them. And still it's my name, isn't it? Drawing them in. Children, ardent for some desperate glory with my name as the lie they're told."

I couldn't hear what Quatre was saying anymore. He was whispering in her ear. And I was sitting there, breaking chicken bones, trying not to shake as much as she was. You do the right thing, and people die. It happens. I was used to it. But looking at her, seeing her take on the guilt for what she hadn't done—

I left then. Quatre was trying to comfort her, and I knew eventually he'd get it right. Me, I'd never gotten much further in problem solving then breaking things. And she was already broken.

Endnote: 'Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori' is Latin for 'It is a sweet and honorable thing to die for one's country'. It's also a reference to a poem by Wilfred Owen called 'Dulce et Decorum est' which I strongly recommend. Relena's line "Children, ardent for some desperate glory with my name as the lie they're told" is paraphrasing the lines:

To children ardent for some desperate glory,

The old Lie; Dulce et Decorum est

Pro patria mori.


	4. Chapter 4

Author's Note: I really enjoy writing Relena, but I'm not sure when she'll show up next, so if you like her, enjoy her in this chapter. For those unaware, there's another sidestory to the series called 'Lord Chang's Meditations on the Nature of the Phoenix'. And, as every, I appreciate the reviews and encouragement.

Parings: 2x5, 4xR, 1x3

Warnings: Language

Disclaimer: I neither own these characters nor make profit from these stories.

I didn't need a camera to know that it was Relena tapping at my door sometime after midnight. Relena was the only person in the whole damn place that'd knock like that, delicate and expectant at the same time. And, I don't know, it was late. It was late and I was still hearing her crying in my head, a person in no way fragile broken by the reality we were all dealing with. Maybe a reality I was helping create. Fuck it. Anyway, I let her in. Duo Maxwell, glutton for punishment. Very Catholic, don't you think?

She was wearing an honest to god nightgown, rose silk. The sort of thing you'd think she'd wear, attractive instead of hot. Sleeveless but down to her ankles. And I was thinking, girl walking into a guy's room at this time of night, it should be the set up for a porno. But, no, Relena had to make it all seem classy and appropriate.

"Hey, Princess." I moved out of her way and she walked in, settling into the desk chair, because, I bet, she didn't think it was proper to be on a bed with a gentleman. Probably learned it in that school of hers with its uniforms and its parties. Poor girl. Never lived and still wasn't. Not that I could talk. But hell, there was a time I was getting laid pretty steady. Not so much, anymore.

"I hope I didn't wake you," she said, smoothing her nightgown over her knees and giving me her best diplomat smile.

"Nah, it's cool. Don't sleep much really. Sleep's too much like being dead." Or like being dead soon. They get you while you're sleeping.

Relena's hands were folded in her lap, where they clenched briefly, then settled, as if longing to make some nervous gesture she'd trained them against. Wufei does it too, locks everything down. It's his right index finger that gives him away. It always starts to twitch.

"Duo, I, well, my outburst earlier. It was inappropriate."

That was what this was about? I wanted to shake her. God, couldn't any of us leave some room for the possibility of at least a little humanity? But no, we couldn't. Relena wasn't allowed to have outbursts, to be unhappy. It put her outside her role. She had to be perfect. I said, "You've been spending too much time around Heero."

She laughed, at least. I hate it when people don't. Worse, when they used to but don't anymore. But when she spoke it was all earnest honesty, "He's not like that really. He's sweet. It's just no one ever taught him how to show it. He saved my life."

"He tried to kill you, too."

"Well, yes. But he does that with everyone."

Hard to argue with that. "Listen," I said, "Don't worry about earlier. You've got it rough, we understand. You're wasting time apologizing to me when you could be having Quatre screw your brains out."

For the record, Relena, when embarrassed turns a shade of pink that outshines every one of her similarly colored accessories.

"I, that is, we-- Duo!"

"What? So you've got a Gundam pilot fetish."

"No! I mean, we haven't done anything."

And that's called a dodge. Because not having done it didn't mean she didn't want to, wasn't planning to. I, for example, have not killed Lady Une.

"But you want to."

"I hardly think—"

"C'mon admit it. Jump him. He could use it. That guy, he's wound too tight."

"He worries," said Relena, and then, in a rush, "You worry him."

"Me? I'm no crazier than anyone else here. Saner than some. I'm not stalking Trowa, for one thing." It's interesting what you learn in three days of watching camera feeds.

Relena made a brief dismissive motion with her hand. "That will work itself out. It's what he does. But you, hiding like this?"

"Hiding is what I do."

"I hadn't noticed," she said, straight faced, voice dripping irony. "But that's strategy. This isn't getting you any closer to what you want."

"I don't want to talk about this." I'd been sitting, but I let myself fall back onto the bed so that I saw the ceiling instead of Relena's earnest expression.

"I'm aware. Don't worry; my duties could be generally described as 'talk to people about things they don't want to talk about.'"

"I thought they were 'look pretty and smile for the soldiers.'" Low and petty and I knew it.

"Don't be a bastard." She should have sounded angry, but she didn't.

"Relena, I'm sorry." I sat back up.

"You should be." Her words were firm and they still didn't have the sort of edge they deserved. But I could see the memory of earlier in her eyes. It's why it's better for me to avoid good people. They're made of all these brittle, breakable parts, and some times I can't help myself. Wufei though, he'd just raise an eyebrow. Guess I got him in the end, anyway.

"Relena—" The thing was, I'd only wanted her to leave. I like Relena. And hell, I was already the cause of enough of her problems.

"It's not important. Listen to me. Wufei wanted you here. He was worse before you got here. I think you should talk to him."

"It won't work. You don't know him like—"

"Like you do? You're right. And if I can see that he's unhappy, I can only imagine what you see."

"He's not a thirteen-year-old girl."

"No, but he's human. Whatever you like to pretend, you're all human. You don't do things the same way, don't show things the same way but you still feel. You still need people."

"So, Quatre wants me to stay away from him and you want me to rush in and declare my love for him?"

"I don't know that you do love him." She smiled and her eyes were focused on something only she could see. "In my experience Gundam pilots don't do love, at least not the way others might want them too." Her words had an ache in them that was nothing like her earlier, furious pain. "The world is so lonely, Duo. Especially for us. If you like to be around him, and he likes to be around you, isn't that enough?"

"You and Quatre have something." I think I was trying to comfort her. It's hard to say.

"What Quatre and I have are responsibilities. I can't stay here in Neverland, and he can't come live with me."

She stood then, and I walked her to my door and kissed her on the cheek. We smiled at each other, and looking in from the outside, you could almost believe we meant it.

The next morning I went down to breakfast without bothering to check the cameras or plan a safe route. Maybe it was what Relena said, maybe I was just hungry. My money is on hungry, though.

Trowa was in the kitchen, frying eggs. Heero was, by all appearances, doing warm up exercises on the lawn despite the cold of the morning. If Trowa noticed that he was in Heero's line of sight, that he was always in Heero's line of sight, he didn't show it.

"Make me some." I grabbed a stool and sat so that I could see Trowa cooking and behind him, the window and Heero. Relena and Quatre weren't around, probably having breakfast in bed. Worse, in the security room, playing matchmaker over the screens. Next they'd be slipping notes under my door. 'Duo, meet me at the pool at sunset, Wufei.' Speaking of, "You seen Wufei?"

Trowa cracked a few more eggs into the pan, "Yeah."

Which as answers went, wasn't exactly useful, but the man was making me breakfast so I bit my tongue. "Where'd you see him?"

"Gundam." Trowa turned to look at me, and without glancing back flipped the eggs in one graceful motion of the pan. I was starting to think I was the only Gundam pilot who wasn't also a chef, which, beyond being embarrassing, was just kinda weird. "He doesn't like to talk to you."

"Yeah, I'd noticed." I stood anyway moving into the kitchen even as I gave up on the idea of having a nice, easy breakfast. The gnawing ache in my stomach had nothing to do with hunger and no amount of eating was going to help, "Save me some, alright?"

"Sure."

"And feed Heero. Poor man must be freezing, it's like forty degrees outside." I stepped past Trowa and pushed the window open, "Heero, you crazy asshole, get in here. Trowa made you breakfast."

Trowa shrugged, and took down another plate. Heero finished the set of pushups he was on and stood without seeming to hurry. They didn't look at each other. I closed the window and went to find Wufei. I was feeling optimistic. It could be worse, after all. I could be Heero.

The hangar smelled like grease and metal and war, the faint tang of weaponry hanging on the air. The Gundams stood in a line, with Shenlong between Sandrock and Heavyarms. Wufei was running some sort of diagnostic. He sat typing on his laptop, completely still except his fingers. I could have walked right up to him, moved without sound until I was at his side. But it didn't seem like a good idea, and I let my steps fall just a little heavier than usual. It was enough.

"Hello, Maxwell." His words weren't cold, just empty. Like he was talking to the mailman. Suddenly I wasn't feeling so optimistic.

"Hey. Trowa's making breakfast."

"I'm occupied."

"I'll bring you some."

"Thank you, no. I've eaten." He still hadn't looked up or stopped typing. "This is delicate work, and you are making yourself a distraction."

Oh, fuck him. Making myself a distraction. That's the shit I put up with. Why the fuck was I even trying? Except I knew the rigid line of his back, the stiff way he held his shoulders. He does relax, it just doesn't look the same as when, say, I relax. Me, I can pull off boneless when I want too.

So I didn't leave. I opened my mouth and realized I didn't have a damned thing to say. Give me a base to infiltrate. Give me an army to take on single-handed. That's all easy. But people, I don't get people. I don't even get myself, most the time.

"Wufei?"

"Yes, Maxwell?"

"Are you in love with me?"

He stopped typing, but didn't glance up. He said, "No."

Which was a good thing. Awesome. The gnawing in my stomach sharpened into a cold stabbing sensation that ran all down my back. So I guess that's how relief feels.

"Do you hate me?"

"No."

And that was everything cleared up. No need to worry. I'd just leave. And I wouldn't notice that as Wufei set his hands back on his keyboard, his right index finger twitched. No, I'd just look away and everything would be fine. Which was exactly what I told myself as I walked back toward the kitchen. Everything was fine.


	5. Chapter 5

Author's Note: So it occurred to me, as I pouted about the wait for a new chapter in a fic I'm reading, that maybe someone somewhere was waiting to read the next chapter of Sir Maxwell. So, for that person, whoever they are, I wrote this. Go you, person!

Listen, I'm not a fan of authorial intrusion. It's not the creators place to tell people how to interpret their creation. If it was, we wouldn't have fanfic. That said, before we go any further I'd like to make one thing clear. I am not writing about the Gundam pilots as healthy people. I approach them as extremely haunted, wounded, and sometimes downright broken. As such, they aren't in what I'd ever dream of calling healthy relationships. Please, don't take this fic as a sign that things like stalking are cool and romantic. They aren't. Honest. Again, the attitudes and actions of the characters are not healthy. They aren't cute and cool and okay. Sorry for the note, I'm sure most of you realize this. I, just, well, I've lived long enough and through enough that I wouldn't feel comfortable without taking the time to make that statement.

Pairings: 2x5, 1x3, 4xR

Warnings: Language.

There was this one time. I lit a city on fire and we fucked as the ash rained down. I remember looking down at the flames and wanting to jump. I thought maybe they'd burn me clean, burn away all the blood and shit and memory. And then we kissed, and I remember thinking I was an idiot, because we were, both of us, nothing but blood and shit and memory. And if I burned myself clean, I'd never be able to touch him again.

But in the hangar, when I asked him, there was nothing in his voice. No memory of ash or fire. Any idiot could have heard him and told you that I'd never be allowed to touch him again. I left him there, working. Just turned and walked outside. He didn't watch me go. I would have felt it if he did.

Here's the thing. And it's not like Quatre says. Not like Relena says. Because they don't know. Could never really understand. Them with their mansions and their cars and their endless, untiring generosity. People say the rich are greedy, but I think that's BS. You want greed, real greed, you've got to find people who have nothing. Because when you've got nothing, you'll kill to defend it. Maybe the rich aren't all generous, but they're not about to slit your throat over a chicken leg.

And that's what it comes down to. I've never had anything. When you grow up on the streets or in an orphanage, you learn that nothing really belongs to you. You don't even belong to you because your body is a tool, and if you're lucky it belongs to a gang that'll make sure it gets fed once in awhile. During the war, I belonged to the fight. Now, I belonged to a cause. Or maybe I belonged to Quatre. He sure as hell didn't want me wandering very far.

But, Wufei. Wufei, in shadow or flame. He'd been mine. Not 'my love' or 'my one and only' or anything else you'll find in a damn greeting card. Just, mine. When I wanted him, he was there. When I left, he didn't ask questions. He never asked for anything. He couldn't. That would have made me his. And I'm just gutter trash. The poor, they can steal something nice and hide it away for themselves. But you'll never see a rich bastard like Wufei putting a piece of trash on his mantle.

What I'm saying is you don't fucking steal a poor kid's shit, unless you want a knife in the eye. I don't know why Wufei thought he could just take himself back, without even asking. But it didn't matter. He was mine. And, I realized, as the cold air bit at my arms and reminded me that breakfast was still waiting, I wasn't ready to give him up. It didn't really matter how he felt about it. It wasn't about him.

Trowa and Heero were gone but the covered plate left for me still had plenty of lukewarm breakfast food. I couldn't even taste it and after, felt guilty about having eaten so mechanically. You go hungry a few times and you learn to savor food. There's something wrong with just treating it like its fuel, with not taking advantage of what you have while you have it. Sometimes, it's not until you're deprived of something that you realize how important that thing is. Food, sure. But other things: safety, peace, his rough hands and dry wit.

Oh, fuck him anyway. So, I'd left a note. It hadn't been safe there anymore. It was safe here. He had no right to avoid me.

I stopped trying to find words, stopped planning arguments. I walked into the hangar thinking I'd just grab him and, I don't know, shake him until he understood. Heero was walking down the ramp of a shuttle. From the way he held himself, he was in full mission mode. His Gundam was missing from the lineup. Wufei was gone.

"You seen Chang?" I called, walking over to where I'd left Wufei sitting, as if he might be hiding behind Shenlong's foot.

"He left. He was irritated." A short pause, "Stop irritating him."

"Who says it's me?"

"It's always you, Duo. Every time he gets like this, he seems to have just spoken to you."

"Whatcha doing? Mission?"

"Training."

"In space?"

"It's important that we keep our skills."

"Take me up with you." I'd kept Deathscythe in top form, but we didn't fly like we used to, when I spent so much time at those controls that he felt more familiar than my own body.

Heero looked from me to Deathscythe and nodded. "Load up."

I loved Heero then, for being so goddamn practical. Sure, he's completely insane. But if something makes sense, if it falls in line with his mission parameters, he goes with it. You don't have to talk him into anything because you can't talk him into anything. Everything is yes or no. If I'd been fucking Heero, he'd have understood the note. No, he wouldn't have. It was better than that. He wouldn't have cared. And when I came back, he wouldn't have cared about that either. Then again, he was stalking Trowa. So what the hell did I know?

"Trowa's not coming along?" I asked.

No flinch, no thoughtful look or raised eyebrow. "No. I planned to train alone."

We didn't talk much after that. I watched the sky open up above us. You can see so little from earth. It must be easy for them to forget, from their beautiful little world, how much more is waiting beyond their pretty blue sky. Heero apparently had a destination in mind, and once we were out of the heavily trafficked space above earth, he put us in orbit beside a large carrier vessel that had Quatre's company logo all over it. Heero pressed a few buttons and the thing opened up, spilling two dozen Dolls into space.

"Only twenty-four?"

"I reprogrammed them. They should provide some challenge."

Great. I was in space, out of practice, up against Heero's Superdolls. Then again, it was something to break. "Alright. Let's blow some shit up."

And Heero, who is not, despite what I might say, a robot, smiled like it was Christmas morning.

The thing about Dolls is no matter how well you program them, even if you're Heero and you program them, they still think in patterns. There's no creativity to them. They can adapt, but they still adapt according to a set of commands. Fighting Dolls is simple if you can just stay alive long enough for the pattern to snap into place.

They tried to surround us, but that's a lot harder to do in space when there's no direction you can't move. As they swarmed toward us, I slid through a gap in their net and took two Dolls out in passing.

"Are you blackmailing Wufei?" Heero asked, that slight edge of mania coloring his words. I jerked at the unexpected question, maneuvering Deathscythe to face Wing and nearly losing an arm in the process. Right. Not dying. Also important.

"What the hell are you talking about?" I asked, neatly carving in two a doll that was opening fire on Wing's unprotected back. I should have let the bastard take a few hits.

"You were in contact with him while you were missing. That's clear. Your presence didn't anger him when the war ended, it does now. Something happened. But I talked to him about you. I told him I thought you had gotten yourself killed. He disagreed, said if you'd died, it'd have been in a way we'd hear about. But he didn't say you contacted him."

"So? He has to give you a list of everyone he talks to?" Something exploded to my left and Deathscythe's screens lit up at the impact. Not a lot of damage, but I was letting myself get distracted.

"What do you have on him?"

The number of Dolls was dwindling, and yes, Heero had more kills than I did. "I don't. Listen, yes, I was in contact with Wufei. No, I'm not blackmailing him."

"Then why is he angry?" He took out three dolls while he asked. I wanted to kill him, just then, for being such a bastard, for not trusting me. And I wanted to applaud, because no one flies a Gundam like Heero.

"Why are you stalking Trowa?"

Silence. The silence of space, which can consume you, if it wants.

"I'm observing him."

"Why?"

"This isn't relevant." The fight was winding down, and there was something other than battle fever in his voice. Something I couldn't pin down through a speaker. There were only two dolls left, until one of them came a bit too close to me, and drifted off again in pieces.

"And what's going on with Wufei is?"

"It's interfering with the unit."

"Get me Quatre's override key and I can fix things with Wufei."

"You want to break into his room?"

"Yes."

Silence.

We made our way back to the shuttle, and other than being pissed at Heero, I felt better than I had all week. I think he did too.

He navigated us out of the debris, back toward Earth, to what he might even call home. I didn't try and convince him. Like I said, you can't do that with Heero.

"I don't know." He said, and now, with him next to me, I could almost read what hid behind his level words. It wasn't something I thought I'd heard from him before. "I'm observing him because I don't know."

"Know what?"

"I don't know."

"You're watching him because you don't know why you're watching him."

"Yes."

"Heero, you're as fucked up as I am." I laughed, because if misery loves company, then so must the insane, and he smirked in that brief, sharp way he has. "It's not nice to stalk people."

He brought the shuttle into a landing and I wished he hadn't. We could have stayed in space. Weightless and just blowing things up. It's not complex up there. Things try to kill you and you try to stop them.

"Is it nice to break into their rooms?" He asked and I worried that he really meant it as a question, that maybe he wasn't sure.

"No. But we aren't nice people."

He nodded at that, as we worked on unloading the Gundams. "They'll need some repairs."

"Good, I've got some improvements I've been wanting to make anyway." I pushed him, just to see if he'd let me, and he let me touch him but grounded himself so I might as well have been pushing a wall. "That was fun."

"We can do it again." And from the way he sounded, you might not believe that he had fun too. But he did. Sometimes I think that up there, fighting, is the only time he does. "You can resolve the issue with Wufei?"

"Get me the key. I just have to make him understand something but he's avoiding me."

"Give me three days."


	6. Chapter 6

Author's Note: Reading good fic is an excellent way to find inspiration for ones own work, I think. At least, it works for me and I wasn't even reading in the same fandom. This took awhile. You can't imagine how many times I rewrote the first page. As ever, thanks to everyone who has left a comment. Those comments are the reason I keep writing. You guys make it worth it. Just a warning, life is really busy and sort of rough for me right now. Moving cross country and all that. The next chapter will come, but like this one, it might be awhile. If you're desperately curious about how long, check my writing journal. I make the occasional note of what I'm working on there. It's at .com/. It's also excruciatingly boring, so you'll have to be pretty desperate to know about updates if you check it.

Thank you for being patient. Thank you for sticking with me. I hope you enjoy.

Pairings: 2x5, 1x3, 4xR

Warnings: Language, though not as bad as in some chapters.

The library was quiet. Empty. I sat there in one of those tasteful chairs, a book open in my lap. I wasn't reading it. Mostly, I was thinking about how easy the things were to burn. Wufei puts his faith in books but I was never able to. Anything you can get rid of with the creative use of a single box of matches isn't something to rely on. Quatre's override key was sitting in my pocket, hardly any weight at all and still, it felt like it was dragging me down. Should have been simple. Should have been just walking into his room. But there was an email on my computer that'd arrived just around sunup. A warning. Une was sniffing around Quatre's little compound. His pretty smile wasn't going to fool her much longer. And that should have been simple too. Simple as run and hide.

But I couldn't do both.

Wufei. Wufei who believed in books more than he believed in people. But that wasn't hard. He wasn't all that big on people. Me either, though I was, once. In war, you see the worst of people. You see them stripped down to the bone, to kill or die instincts. But it's alright. War is war. People go a bit crazy. The hard part came after. When the need left but the hunger carried on. Then you saw the truth, that people were violent and vicious with or without an excuse. They hid it better in peacetime, but not by much.

So I didn't put my faith in people. And I sure as hell didn't put my faith in books. Me, I believed in the power of death. The grave was a promise, in its way. Good or bad, everyone died in the end. Except maybe Heero.

The words on the page in front of me weren't in any language I could read. But really, any book I picked up felt that way. Just a series of repeating patterns. Sure, I can find use in a technical manual, but explain fiction to me. Explain what we're supposed to relate to the ordered, rational world you find in novels. When has life ever made sense?

I'd asked Wufei that question once. I'd even believed his answer. I'd believed Wufei. Believed in Wufei. Something other than death I'd thought I could put my faith in. I'd thought he was a rock. No matter what I said to him, no matter how hard I pushed, he took it. I could break myself against him, he was so steady. I'd tried to ruin us. I had done things for no other reason than to see if he would hate me. And he hadn't, so I'd thought he never would.

And then I'd written a note. A fucking little note that wasn't meant to mean anything but goodbye. I'd written a note and he'd written me off. After everything. After making me believe that I could count on him, that he was mine and nothing could take that away.

I had a keycard in my pocket. I had a warning to run. I sat there with a book in my lap and thought about what I could do with a box of matches. I thought about how, if I did, maybe he'd notice. Maybe he'd see me again.

Before I had a chance to go looking for a light I heard Heero and Trowa coming down the hall. They were speaking in low voices, intimate and edged with passion. And wouldn't you know it? They were talking about their Gundams. Because Heero's an idiot and Trowa's a robot. He watched him because he didn't know why he watched him. And I wanted to burn down a library because negative attention is better than no attention. God, we were all fucked in the head. Maybe it'd be best if Une did lock me up. If she locked us all up.

The two of them stopped just outside the library, still murmuring. Then Heero's footsteps continued on. I think Quatre picked flooring that carries noise on purpose. It lets us track people, so we can remind ourselves that we're safe, somehow. No one can sneak up on us. Unless it's one of us making an effort. And if we start trying to kill each other, hell, we're screwed anyway. Trowa's steps had stopped. They picked up again as he walked in.

We looked at each other for a minute. I don't know if he was expecting me to be there. Probably. He didn't look surprised, just nodded and walked over to one of the shelves like he knew what he was looking for.

"You and Heero planning on doing a little upgrading together?" I asked in a tone about as heavy with innuendo as I could make it. You can only do so much with Gundams as a subject. I mean, what was I going to say? 'Have fun polishing his beam cannon?' Fuck. And anyway, Trowa'd probably just shrug, or nod.

Which he did. Both, actually. I waited. He kept browsing. I would have said just five minutes earlier that the last thing I wanted was to be around people. But he was there and he was ignoring me and I've always hated that.

"Then why are you in the library instead of the hangar?" I asked, not even attempting to imply anything. Wasn't worth it. You could make Quatre laugh and Wufei was actually great when you got him going. But the other two were both useless.

"He mentioned a book that might have applications on the adjustments I'm considering."

"I'll just bet he did."

Nothing. See? Wasted. And it was irritating, the way he just kept going, like he didn't even notice the way Heero'd been following him. Like he existed in a world where everything made sense, like one of Wufei's damned novels.

"You don't even care that he's stalking you, do you?"

Silence. But he stopped browsing, turned to look at me. I couldn't read his expression. I've never been much good at that with Trowa. No anger. But no surprise, either.

"You can't say you haven't noticed. You're a Gundam pilot." And I almost wondered why I was even pushing, but I didn't really care. I wanted to think about something that wasn't me for awhile, and Trowa's placid acceptance of Heero's creepier habits was as good a subject as any.

"I've noticed," he said in that quiet measured way of his. Which, really, was like saying nothing. Because we already both knew that much. And then, surprise surprise, he kept talking. "It's what he does."

"Stalks people?" I leaned forward, watching him and waiting. He sat down.

"Obsesses." His voice still had that same measured ease about it, but there was something else there. I couldn't say what. I'm not Quatre.

"You know, he also kills people. I mean, if we're letting him do his thing, why not go all the way?" God, it felt good to do this. Trowa's expression was moving from neutral toward the first hints of annoyance. And I wasn't thinking of override keys, emails or fire. Well, mostly not.

"Why does this bother you?"

"Why doesn't it bother you? He's not just obsessing. He's obsessed with you. Heero is obsessed with you. Don't you think maybe you should worry about that?" I was ready to keep talking, ready to say more, but while his eyes were level and even on mine, the corner of his mouth was turning up, just barely. And I heard a click as things slid into place. "You like it. He's following you around like a wolf scenting blood and you like it."

Shrug. Fuck Trowa and his damned shoulders.

"So, what? You're just watching? Waiting? For what?" This was better than lighting libraries on fire.

"He needs to decide what he wants." He was sitting easy, as if he didn't mind the direction of the conversation. As if he didn't mind waiting, forever. He looked so comfortable. That's the thing about Trowa. I call him a robot, but he's not really. He's got an ease about him, most times. Around here, anyway. Heero's cold, but Trowa's warm. Unreadable and inaccessible, but warm. I don't get that. He looked comfortable, patient, calm. A whole pile of emotions that I didn't normally associate with 'seeking death'. And if he was sitting and waiting for Heero to come for him, the death wish was there, somewhere. Look at Relena. She'd seen so much death she'd needed a little of it for herself. So she'd set her sights on Heero.

I shook my head, not out of denial so much as a need to clear it. "And then? He decides what he wants and you just give it to him? What if you don't want to?"

He looked like he was about to shrug again, which meant I was just about to attempt to beat him to death with the book I was holding. But he spoke. "I will."

And then I threw the book at him. He let it hit him, watched it fall to the ground.

"Trowa, listen." My voice had taken on a tone I was barely familiar with. It was the gentle, instructive tone Quatre had mastered. "You're not a puppet. You're not a slave. You aren't under his command. You don't just wait until he says jump and then ask what he'd like you to wear while you're jumping."

He laughed. Trowa Barton rested his head against his knees and laughed, his whole body shaking with it. When he sat up, he was still smirking. "No. Duo, you don't need to protect me. This is what I want."

"You want to be Heero's sex toy." Well, okay, so I couldn't entirely fault him for that. It'd be fun until it killed him.

Raised eyebrow. Like a shrug, but with the face. "Quatre's wrong. We're not here to get better. We're here to figure out how to exist. Heero's never been a person before. It isn't easy." Trowa fell quiet and I wasn't surprised. We didn't usually talk all that much. I'd never thought to get this much out of him. I hadn't realized he'd been paying such close attention.

"You think you can fix him."

"I can be what he needs." He said it so easy, like it didn't even bother him. I was the one that winced, remembering.

There was never supposed to be a second time with Wufei. I hadn't thought I'd go back. But after awhile, everything had gotten sharp again. Everything was shadow and pain and I could feel myself slipping, feel myself believing that there was nothing to the world but the dark. So I'd stumbled back to his doorstep. And afterward, I'd looked at him and I'd said 'I needed this.' I hadn't meant to. And I knew immediately that I'd ruined things, that there would be no third time. But all he'd said was, 'don't wait so long next time'. Like it was no big deal, me showing up on his doorstep like a starved dog. Like putting up with me was just something he did.

That's how Trowa sounded. Like sacrificing whatever it was he wanted to Heero's needs was just something he did. As if playing the martyr was just about as exciting to him as making breakfast. Which, full disclosure, he was great at. So I'm sure he'd make an awesome Heero crutch.

Suddenly, I didn't hate Wufei for writing me off. I hated him for putting up with my shit in the first place.

"You're an idiot. He's Heero. If you give him whatever he needs, he'll just keep taking. He won't even think he shouldn't. And he'll need a lot. You can't just- just give yourself up for a person."

He stared at me for awhile. Long enough that I thought maybe I'd gotten through. But then he was smiling again. Usually, I like making people smile. On Trowa, it was a little unnerving. "We don't all burn, Duo."

"Huh?"

He stood up, walked toward the doorway. The book he'd taken down from the shelf hung loosely in his hand. I thought maybe he'd throw it at me. He was still smiling.

"You can't understand." It was such a strange little smile. He spoke slowly, like that would somehow make him sound less insane. "What I want is to give him what he needs."

"And what do you get out of it?" I wasn't even sure whether or not I really meant the question for Trowa.

"He'll need me."

"What if he stops?"

"Heero doesn't." He walked out. I didn't follow. I had a library to burn.

Heero doesn't. It's true. He could be manic. He could be wrong. But he was still consistent as fuck. He would never stop. If you could be happy, just having him need you, just feeding that need, then you'd be happy for the rest of your life. It just might be a short one.

Fuck it. Trowa was crazy. You couldn't just exist for a person like that. You couldn't just give. That wasn't how it was supposed to work. And even if it could work, with a person like Heero, not everyone's like that. Some of us stop needing. Some of us just stop, period.

Some of us leave notes, promising not to come back.

I walked out of the library. It was easy to pretend that I didn't have a destination in mind. I could have been just wandering the halls, stretching my legs. The route I was taking led to the practice rooms, to the kitchen, to the backyard. But it led to Wufei's room first.

I stood there holding the override key, my forehead resting against the door. I listened to myself breathing. I watched my hands shake. God, I could still taste him, somehow.

Bastard.

When I knocked, he didn't even call out a question. The door slid open and he was standing on the other side.

"You look like hell, Maxwell," he said. He didn't invite me in. But he stepped out of my way, and for a second, as I walked past him, I almost thought I saw him smile.


	7. Chapter 7

Author's Note: This is the last chapter of Sir Maxwell's Guide to the Honorable Sport of Dragon Hunting. It is not, however, the end of the series. There'll be other 2x5 stories in this universe, though I think I'm going to focus on Trowa and Heero next. Thank you to everyone who has stuck with me so long, everyone who has left comments and encouragement. You are extremely appreciated.

Warnings: Language

Pairings: 2x5, 1x3, 4xR

Wufei's room was stark, like his apartment had been, like he was. Clean lines, white walls, barely any sign that anyone lived there at all, just the books he had piled around and the computer in the corner of his desk.

I looked around, he watched me look. When I sat down on the corner of the bed, he didn't complain. I tried to think of something to say, something that wouldn't be a test, or worse, a need. The silence was something you could taste, like the way the taste of blood hangs on the air after you've spilled enough of it.

"What do you want?" He was leaning against the wall, his arms crossed, wearing his arrogant scholar expression. Irritation traced the edges of his words like powder burns but I heard something else beneath it, heard Trowa, waiting on Heero's want.

"And then you give it to me? Is that how this works? Is that how people like us do things?" As apologies went there were probably better places to start but I was already trying not to yell. "It's not like that. We weren't like that. Don't ask me what I want. What do you want?"

"Duo." And the clipped exasperation he wrapped around my name was so familiar it could have been the weight of a gun in my hand. "You knocked on my door. If you don't want something, why are you here?"

"Oh." Too much work explaining. So I did my best Trowa imitation instead: shrug. "I thought we'd talk.

"We're talking." Already, the familiarity was gone. He was Lord Chang all over, cold as a night on L2.

"Oh, fuck you."

Silence again. Funny, really. Because we'd done silence. We'd done him standing around, glaring. But I've never seen much point in shaking hands with the person you're fucking. It's not honest.

And it was funny, the way he looked at me. Like I'd buy the Lord Chang act anymore. Like I didn't know him well enough to see that behind the stick in the ass posture was a guy who wanted nothing more than to tear my goddamn throat out. Yeah, I didn't know how he likes his tea and fuck if I remembered whether or not he prefers kittens or puppies. But Quatre was wrong. I knew the color of his skin in shadow; I knew how easily that skin bruised. I knew how he tasted and I knew the sharp hissing sigh of his voice as he came. You know someone like that, know them raw and open and cut to bone, and poses and cold words only go so far.

God, sometimes it's so hard not to laugh. You get so you're drowning in it all: anxiety, need, the instinct to run. I started laughing and that was it. I lost it. Just shaking with it, not making much noise but giggling like a clown on speed. Wufei managed this real offended, 'how dare you laugh at Lord Chang the Mighty' look and that just made it worse. I fell off the bed. Rolled onto my back and just stared up at him, grinning.

He looked a little like he wanted to kill me, a lot like he wanted to fuck me. Mostly, most importantly, he looked like he got the joke. He's got this short, rough chuckle, almost soundless. And he's got a smile like a lit fuse. We laughed at each other, me on the floor my head by his ankles, and him looking down, thinking about grinding his foot into my throat. I snaked my hands up, grabbed him behind the knees to bring him down, the great Lord Chang toppled by a street rat. He rolled, wouldn't let me hold him, wouldn't stay close, but he didn't stand back up.

Staring again.

"This isn't how it works," he said. He'd settled into his usual pose, crosslegged on the floor. I pushed myself up onto my elbows, rested with my back against the wall.

Hadn't I already said that? I tapped my foot against his ankle, the closest I could come to kicking him without moving. "We used to be alright."

He didn't say anything to that, just looked at me, and that was almost enough to set me laughing again. Yeah. We'd never really been alright, neither of us, for as long as we'd known each other and before that. We just weren't alright people. Never would be. What we had, what we'd had before, anyway, hadn't been alright.

I said, "Okay, not alright. But, I figure--" And I knew that soon I'd be bargaining because Duo Maxwell sure as hell wasn't going to be begging, and I was already trying to decide what I could give up to get things back the way they were.

"Duo, stop." He said, and I did. Not because he sounded severe and unforgiving but because he'd used my name for the second time since I'd walked through the door and that felt like progress. But he didn't say anything else and that left us just sitting there, stopped.

We never used to stop. I mean, I bet Quatre and Relena spend hours just sitting around being companionably silent, but it wasn't really my style. I'd always come to him out of too much silence and solitude. I'd wanted loud. We sat there and maybe I was supposed to be existing in the moment and really feeling it. Mostly I was going over the exercise with Heero the other day and thinking about how to best upgrade Deathscythe as a result.

"You think you can just wait around for me to give up?" He spoke with so little emotion, I wasn't sure whether it was a question or not, decided to pretend it was.

Fuck him. "I'm not a goddamn disease, Wufei. You liked being mine." Wrong thing to say and I knew it.

"Yours?" The word burned the air as he spit it out. I'd managed to piss him off pretty good, more than once, but it sounded like the coming fight just might make it to the top. And for once, I didn't want it.

"No. I mean--" I meant he was mine. And why couldn't he want that? Trowa wanted to be Heero's. But that thought, that conversation, still left me feeling sick. Not what I wanted. But that didn't, I mean, I could want him without wanting him to be some fucked up puppet. Wufei looked about ready to storm out if I didn't start talking, his room or no. "Listen. Fuck. I'm sorry. You want me to go?"

"Yes." He still sounded just about ready to eat my lungs. But when I started to stand up he shook his head. "Stay."

I sat back down, readjusting to close the space between us. He didn't react and that seemed about the best I could hope for. "Didn't you?" I asked.

"It wasn't like that." He said. And I was pretty sure I'd said that already, but I kept quiet because he still looked like he wanted to talk. Funny that we could both say the same shit and still be fighting. "You never wanted it to mean anything. Why do you care so much, now?"

"You know, I think I've talked to the others more in the past couple weeks than I did the entire war?" I asked. "Relena, too."

He didn't react to the subject change, "And?"

"Turns out they're all crazy. I like talking to you better."

"You're saying I'm not crazy?"

I smiled. "Nah. But you're my kind of crazy."

He got quiet again and I slid closer to him. There were a lot of reasons I could give for that. But mostly, I was thinking that I might not have another chance. He didn't move away. The quiet felt good this time, like something to hold onto. We seemed to be doing better with silences than with words. We could have touched, if either of us had leaned just a little. We didn't touch.

I said, "Quatre says you like me because of how I drink my tea."

"What you do to tea is disgusting, Duo. You destroy it."

Well, that was fair. I destroyed most things. But there went any plans of tea drinking my way to forgiveness. "So what do you like about me?" The silence that followed lasted long enough to be an insult. I have good traits. Trying to find something nice to say about me shouldn't require deep meditation. But he didn't say anything. Bastard. "You know, if you can't think of anything nice to say about someone you were fucking for years, I think maybe you're the one with the problem."

"You're—alive."

Alive. Yes. A pulse as my best feature. Though, surviving the war? Not easy. I shoved him, started to push myself up to my feet. He grabbed my wrist. Sure, I could have pulled away, but I didn't.

"I've never known anyone as alive as you. You burn." He didn't sound like he meant it. Didn't sound like he meant anything. The words were cold, like he was describing mission specs.

What I wanted to say was, 'what does that even mean' because it didn't mean anything, as far as I could tell. What I did say was nothing because even I know that sometimes it's better to shut up and look pretty. So I did, which meant more sitting, and his hand was still wrapped around my wrist. It felt comfortable and it felt like being cuffed to the floor and mostly it felt like he wasn't leaving yet. That mattered and I wished it didn't.

"Duo, I can't--"

Which sounded so much like the end that I couldn't let him finish, "Why not? We had fun. Let's just do that. I mean, what's wrong with it? The world is fucked and so are we but at least we made sense together."

He was laughing by the time I finished but this time, I wasn't in on the joke and I hated him for it. He said, "You're an idiot, you know that?"

And I really did try to stand that time. Tried to jump to my feet without thinking of his hand around my wrist and ended up flat on my back when he jerked my arm. And then at least he had a reason for laughing.

"Yeah, and you're a bastard." I told him without even bothering to sit up.

"I can't fight with you." A rush of words and I couldn't say how he looked when he said them. By the time I'd pulled my attention from the ceiling he was staring at the wall.

"Yeah?" And for once it felt like maybe we got each other. It'd been easy before. And we'd done too much fighting to waste energy against each other.

"Yeah." But he sounded tired when he said it. Like he'd given up. Something twisted like sharpened steel in my gut when he said it like that.

"I won't do it again, you know." Which was how I knew I wouldn't be leaving. Duo Maxwell doesn't lie.

He shrugged, like it didn't even matter. Like it'd never mattered. But it must have. There wasn't any other reason for him to have pulled away.

"Quatre's in love with Relena." I said it to say something. I said it to see his face. I said it because it wasn't us. Wasn't what we did. But it was nice to know someone could.

"Yes. They compliment each others strengths." He turned to look down at me. He wasn't smiling anymore, but at least he was seeing me.

"You think it'll work then?"

He smirked, "Did you go to all this effort so that you'd have someone to gossip with?"

I would have said something but he kissed me then. It was wrong, at first. Soft and pleading as a prayer in the dark. Then his teeth found my lips and his fingers tangled themselves into my hair and it was the same as it'd always been when I ground up against him.

Yeah. Same as it'd always been. And we were neither of us fine. But why should we be?


End file.
